Each trip
there’s one
memory that
stands out more
than any other.
This trip it
would be of the
fish that was
lost. After
almost a week at
Mammoth Lakes
with my wife
Vita and very
little fishing,
I found myself
on Hot Creek one
evening with my
friend Roger. It
was late, most
of the fly
fishers had left
for the evening
and Roger and I
were fishing the
middle section
of the Hot Creek
canyon. Perhaps
I should say I
was fishing.
Roger was all
suited up, with
gear in hand but
instead of
fishing he
decided to watch
the comedy act
that was my
assault on Hot
Creek this
night.

We started by
hitting my
favorite big
fish pocket,
which didn’t
yield a big fish
but did give up
a rainbow or
two. I narrated
as I fished,
showing Roger
the spots I like
to fish at this
time of year and
how and why I
like to fish it.
After the big
fish run we
headed to where
the small bluff
divides the
creek. We moved
upstream and I
hit the pockets
as best I could.
Most of the time
the low light
made it
difficult to
watch my line
but I still
managed to catch
a fish here and
there, spending
a little bit
more time at
each run than I
might normally
do to compensate
for my less than
skillful fishing
this day.

I’d been fishing
a small run that
usually gives up
a nice medium
sized fish and
had probably
lost a fly or
something. Maybe
I was just
watching the
water, looking
for fish, I
don’t remember
but I looked
down at small
pocket next to
the near bank
and saw a huge
black shadow.
Was it a rock?
Maybe, lots of
fish I thought I
spotted that day
turned out to be
rocks. I had
just finished
telling Roger
that once all
the fisherman
leave, the fish
return to active
feeding along
the near bank.
During the day,
these fish are
either ignored
or pushed off
the bank or put
down by folks
walking the
waters edge, but
at night, after
everyone has
left, one can
fish within 1
foot of the near
bank and pick up
fish.

The night before
I’d done just
that and picked
up a fish every
6 casts or so,
this night, the
water was more
off color and
the fish didn’t
seem as active
as the night
before.
Regardless, I
watched the
black shadow. It
moved and
revealed a huge
fish actively
feeding below a
rock. At one
point, it came
close enough to
the surface that
I could see a
tail that looked
to be 6 inches
wide. I was
wonderstruck and
called Roger
over. The fish
wouldn’t move
and Roger
couldn’t see
him. It was like
a Bigfoot
sighting. Roger
couldn’t
corroborate the
fact that I was
fishing over a
monster. I
fished for what
seemed like 30
or more minutes.
I was close to
giving up when,
with a small
break in the
wind, I was able
to see that my
line had paused.

“I think I got
him!?!” I called
to Roger and set
the hook.

It was the fish
of a lifetime.
Big and
powerful, so
powerful that it
slowly sauntered
downstream. I
pulled back on
the fish
strongly but
couldn’t budge
him. He swam
downstream and
fearful that
he’d ended up in
the fast water,
I pulled him
toward shore.
The fish paused
and then headed
upstream. Roger
had his net in
hand and I
thought I might
be able to steer
him into the net
as we’d done
with several
other fish that
night. This fish
was too powerful
for that and
despite my
efforts, simply
swam underneath
me and under the
bank. He became
entangled in the
weeds. I gave a
little slack and
then pulled back
on my rod. He
was still on. I
decided the only
thing I could do
was horse him
out from under
the bank and
then it
happened. My
line snapped and
I lost the fish.
The fish was so
powerful that at
no time during
our fight did I
bring it close
enough to the
surface for
Roger or me to
see clearly.

“Did you see
it?” I asked
Roger. Nope.
Bigfoot to be
sure or perhaps
the "Hot Creek
Monster. "

It was a lesson
learned. I’d
been pretty lazy
this trip. I
didn’t organize
my gear before
coming, didn’t
tie my standard
flies and didn’t
have enough
faith that I
would hook into
a large fish
this night to
remove the wind
knot I’d seen in
my 5x tippet. I
checked my line
and the line
broke at the
exact spot that
I had seen the
knot……

I
caught a few
more fish that
night but when I
missed the
strike of
another big
fish, I broke
out into a
voodoo dance of
frustration…
like I said, it
was a comedy.

Early that day,
Roger and I
fished a place I
have called on
this site
“Bernard’s
Creek.” (Sorry
Les. :) )
Bernard’s creek
is a small
meadow stream
with large fish
that used to be
hidden in plan
sight but now
seems to see a
fairly good
stream of
fishermen. Roger
and I fished the
stream for
several hours,
picking up a few
fish on nymphs
and dries but
not seeing any
of the
16 inches plus
fish that
I’d hope to see.

In the afternoon
we decided to
fish Rock Creek
Lake which was
still partially
covered with
ice. It was a
fairly easy hike
around the lake
to the inlet. A
small portion of
the far trail
was still
covered with 3
or so feet of
snow. There was
enough snow to
completely bury
one of my legs
when I stepped
on a soft spot
but not enough
to deter us in
our quest for
the inlet. I
fished the inlet
stream while
Roger fished the
lake. Both of us
came away
smelling of
skunk and so we
had set off to
Hot Creek.

I’d already
fished Hot Creek
twice that week.
On Monday night
I fished the
upper public
portion for an
hour or two. It
was my third
outing this year
and my third in
over 6 months.
I’d initially
thought of
nymphing. That
would almost
guarantee me
fish on this
stream but as I
approached the
stream I decided
I wasn’t in the
mood for
numbers. I was
in the mood for
a challenge.
Spring Creeks
are slow and
clear enough
that they should
be sight fished
just as I do on
mountain lakes
and so, I
crawled my way
to the stream's
edge and sat and
stared at the
likely holding
spots. I sat
quietly and when
I thought I’d
found a nice
fish of, I'd
make the cast.

Unfortunately,
there was no
hatch this
evening and no
fish actively
working. I
caught one fish
with a blind
cast to a small
midstream gravel
bar but that was
it.

Two nights later
I returned for
the numbers of
large fish a
well placed
nymph would
grant. It was
Wednesday
evening and as I
pulled into the
parking lot I
was taken aback
by the number of
parked cars lot
and later
disappointed by
the number of
anglers actually
on the stream.

I
started at the
mid portion of
the mid section
of the stream
and I was off my
game. The usual
lies didn’t
produce the fish
I hoped they
would but I
still caught
fish and when a
young women ran
to my side, just
after I released
a 16 inch
rainbow back
into the water.
The stream
rewarded her for
her enthusiasm
by allowing me
to catch a 14
inch rainbow on
the second cast
with her by my
side. My reward,
the great
picture she took
of the me on Hot
Creek. We
chatted a little
and then she and
all the other
anglers left for
the evening.
With an
additional 45
minutes or so of
light left, I
decided to head
downstream a bit
to check things
out.

I
haven’t caught a
fish from the
big riffle in
years; my
current fishing
techniques don’t
work well there
so I decided to
do something
that I hadn’t
seen done or
done myself
since the days
when Mike and
Marlo and I used
to fish the
stream. I worked
my way up the
bank, throwing a
curve cast so
that my fly
would drift back
to me as close
to under the
bank as I could
get it. The wind
had lessened a
bit and more of
my casts landed
in the water
than landed in
the nettles and
the fish came
readily- not
monsters, but
not dinks
either.

Roger and I met
the following
day and then
again on Friday.
Friday our plan
was to fish the
Sawmill/Tioga
area. With any
luck we’d find
Tioga Lake iced
out and/or be
able to hike to
one of the near
by lakes.
Unfortunately,
Friday morning
on Tioga pass
was
characterized by
bright snow,
grey sky, high
water and cold
air.

We headed south
and almost as an
afterthought
ended up at
“Nosy” lake. Not
it’s real name
and not really a
secret but
whenever a piece
of water is
brought to my
attention by a
person rather
than a book, I
tend to keep
it’s identity
under wraps. I
first read about
this lake in
Barbier’s book
but it was my
friend Bernard
that peaked my
interest in the
lake several
years ago.

Despite this,
I’d never gone
and knowing that
Roger was
familiar with
the lake, I
wondered if he
thought it would
be ice free. He
did and so we
took a short
detour to a
nearby
trailhead. The
hike was short
but it was
already mid day
and we meet
several
fishermen, fly
and other,
heading back to
the trailhead as
we made our way
up. Each warned
us off the lake
and instead
suggested we
fish the creek.
The lake, they
said, was too
windy.

The lake was
windy but Roger
and I gave it a
go anyway. After
some slight
bushwhacking and
surveying about
half the lake,
we found a
promising spot
and went to
work. It didn’t
take long for
the lake to
reward us with a
15 inches and
16.5 inches
Brown Trout for
myself and Roger
respectively. My
fish came on the
second cast and
Roger’s very
shortly after
that. I remarked
that catching
the fish so
quickly was a
bad omen and so
it was. We
wouldn’t catch
another fish
from the lake
the rest of the
afternoon.

On the hike back
to the cars, the
outlet stream
gave up one foul
hooked 12 inch
brook trout but
took about a
half dozen flies
in return.

The following
day Vita and I
headed home.
Tioga Pass is
open, the
Tuolumne River
is full and
Tuolumne Meadows
is a field of
snow. It’s going
to be a late and
long high
country season.